


The Wallpaper Conspiracy

by thewinterspy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1327072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewinterspy/pseuds/thewinterspy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock panics and runs to the nearest furnishing store.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wallpaper Conspiracy

**Author's Note:**

> il·lu·mi·na·ti  
> iˌlo͞oməˈnätē/  
> noun  
> 1.  
> people claiming to possess special enlightenment or knowledge of something.  
> "some mysterious standard known only to the illuminati of the organization"
> 
> True facts: Gatiss emailed me all the deets. He told me not to tell anyone what the real secret behind the wallpaper comment is, but I couldn't betray my fellow shipper. So I tried to summarize the actual events of season five the best I could on thirty hours of no sleep and a lot of feels.

Fifteen minutes to go. Just ten minutes and Camden Roberts would be clear from his shift at the furnishing store. He'd be free to leave the incessant bright lights that stung his wired eyes and the nonsensical prattle that came from very, very stupid customers. Soon, he'd be on his way back home, to the shine of his computer screen and the glorious clash of swords in his computer game _War To End All Wars_. Blissful heaven.

 

He sighed, tapping his fingers along the counter as the store emptied. Twelve minutes left. He'd get pizza on his way home. That'd be just the cherry on top of his perfect ice cream sundae night. Ooh, he could get ice cream too.

 

The glory of adulthood.

 

There was ten minutes to go when the bell at the door rang and a customer swept into the store. The man was tall-ish, looking so distressed that Camden could've sworn he was pissed. But before he could even attempt a half-arsed "Hello, how can I help you?", the man was flouncing into the aisles, his coat sweeping out behind him like Batman's cape.

 

Eh. Whatever. Laurie could deal with the bloke if he stuck around for long. Camden sighed and stuck his chin into his palm. Seven minutes. He could make it through seven minutes.

 

Just then, the man came rushing back to the front counter, looking frazzled as ever. His curls were unkempt, his eyes bewildered by seemingly everything he was looking at.

 

"Where's your wallpaper?" he demanded, grasping at the edge of the counter.

 

Camden stared for a moment, baffled, then pointed, "At the back, right corner. I can show you-?"

 

"Yes, do it, hurry up." the man snapped, gesturing wildly at Cam.

 

The bloke was definitely pissed. Camden stepped out from behind the counter, and giving the man a wide berth, led him to the wallpaper section. The man stood in front of the selections, staring down each piece carefully, attentively, as if his life depended on it.

 

Camden checked his watch. Damn. Six minutes to go. He could do it. He could definitely manage six minutes.

 

"What would you pick?" the man suddenly blurted.

 

"Wha'?" Camden asked.

 

The customer gestured to the selections, "What would you pick? It can't just be any old colour, not any old design. It has to fit, it has to be right. It can't be too dark, or too light, there can't be a lot going on, but it can't be ordinary, it most definitely can't be ordinary. It has to be just the right tint, fifty percent opacity, _parfait_ , just perfect."

 

"We got some blues-" Camden offered, reaching out for a baby blue tone, but the man groaned and uttered an _"Oh God,"_ before crouching and holding his head in his hands.

 

Five minutes to go.

 

Cam blew out air from between his lips, and looked around. Seriously? No other staff around to deal with this loon? He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and cast his gaze about anywhere else but at the crazy bloke.

 

"Listen... um, mate," Camden offered, "You don't have to... decide right now. On a wallpaper. Y'know, you... um, you've got your life ahead ya? Yeah, I mean, you can choose a wallpaper any old time. Y'know? And it doesn't have to perfect really, it's just gotta be... um, y'know, it's gotta make like you're at home."

 

The man remained on the ground, fingers entangled in his curls.

 

Four minutes. Come on Roberts, you can do this, Camden told himself.

 

"Home," the man finally murmured. He lifted his head, blinking, "Home."

 

Camden pinched his lips, waiting for the man to continue, but the silence dragged out for longer than it should have.

 

"Do you want some samples?" Camden finally asked.

 

Abruptly, the man was on his feet, a wide smile blossoming on his face, "Yes. Yes, samples! Samples, samples, all the samples. No! Not all the samples. Just these-" The customer plucked the right colours from Camden's hands as the kid held out the selections, "These will do fine."

 

With that, the bloke was heading to the door of the store, "Also you never adjusted your watch for the daylight savings time, your shift was over an hour ago, so long!"

 

The bell chimed cheerfully as the man swept out, his coat floating along behind him. Camden stood, staring after the customer in an utter daze.

 

Finally, he blurted out, _"Fuck!"_

 

* * *

 

 

The door of 221B opening was what shook Molly out of her doze. She had fallen asleep on the couch where she'd been left, curled up into a tight ball. With a soft groan, she stretched out. Her cheeks were tight and uncomfortable, tear tracks staining her skin. Remembering the reason why she had sobbed herself to sleep made her want to curl up again.

 

The very reason walked through the door of the flat, bundled up in his coat and scarf, his gloved hands intertwined together in front of him.

 

"Molly," Sherlock murmured, moving towards her. He stopped when she waved a hand at him, shooing him away the same way one would to a fly.

 

"Don't bother Sherlock," she said, flapping her hand at him as she brushed her free hand at her watering eyes. Damn. And when she thought she was done crying.

 

"Molly-" the detective tried again, but he was cut off by her snapping.

 

"You left! You just left me sitting here! You utter prick, just go away!" Molly stifled the cry that bubbled up. She hated feeling so mad, but the words had escaped her before she could bite them back. Her throat and stomach ached with the rage that couldn't be bottled up, feeling like fire under her skin.

 

"I panicked," Sherlock protested weakly, which Molly couldn't help but bitterly laugh at.

 

"Panicked? You think you're panicking right now? What about me, Sherlock? You can't even begin to imagine!"

 

"Yes, yes I really can," the detective insisted and suddenly he started to speak, like a broken dam that couldn't hold back the water, "We didn't plan this so that means we have no advantage, no defense strategy, and we have experiments in the kitchen and my mother always wanted Mycroft to do this first she has this all planned out and we're not following the plan, the plan Molly, I put away criminals for a living and that's barely safe enough for you you - now you can't even begin to imagine having more to protect, it's you, I need to protect you, but there's-there's no plan for this, and you work with dead bodies you've never dealt with someone alive if you don't have to, we're not normal enough for this but we-we don't need to be we just need a plan but the flat's an awful place it's all mess and I don't know if I'd be willing to stay constantly clean it doesn't correspond with my statistical behaviours but the upstairs room would work fine for a nursery -"

 

"Sherlock-" Molly started, moving to stand, but Sherlock plopped himself down beside her and shoved paint samples in her face.

 

Blues and pinks.

 

"-but that yellow flower wallpaper is terrible so I got those but I can't-can't plan for a colour when we don't know the gender. I should have seen it all sooner but I didn't and-"

 

"Sherlock-"

 

"The boy at the store lied when he said we have all the time in the world because we only have nine months-"

 

"Oh god, Sherlock-"

 

"I am willing to plan for this. I _want_ to plan for us," Sherlock finally concluded. He stared at her, his gaze burning so bright that it was painful to hold contact with. Molly couldn't find words to reply.

 

Finally, he said, "I'm sorry I made you cry."

 

Molly let out a pitiful noise and kissed him, tossing her arms around her shoulders. Sherlock let out a surprise sound, but he was quick to recover. He took her by the waist, tugging her closer. He seemed as desperate as she felt, seeking out his tongue.

 

"Don't you ever run away from me like that, Sherlock Holmes," she warned against his mouth, "Not ever again."

 

"I was scared," he muttered. Pulling away ever so slightly, he touched his nose to hers, "I still am. I never expected that I would-"

 

"I know. I know, I know Sherlock, but you're wonderful, you'll be wonderful as a father," Molly assured. She moved one hand to his cheek, and opened her eyes to look for his. Sherlock's eyelids remained shut.

 

"We're having a baby?" Sherlock whispered.

 

Molly let out a soft laugh, and nodded, "Yes."

 

Sherlock's eyes slid open, and Molly fell in love all over again. He studied her eyes, first the right, then the left. Finally, his face split open in a wide grin.

 

"Nine months. That's enough time to plan,"

 

"It is. It is, Sherlock," she insisted, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

 

The detective tilted his head towards her hand, snuffling into her fingers until he was able to kiss her palm. She smiled warmly at the affectionate gesture, then began to laugh. Sherlock moved fast, capturing her giggle in his own mouth, before pulling away.

 

"Why are you laughing?" he murmured, a playful growl touching his voice.

 

"I can't believe you fussed so much over wallpaper," Molly chuckled.

 

Sherlock huffed, his face threatening to sink into a pout, but Molly managed to kiss away his bemusement.

 

“I have told you I love you?” he murmured.

 

Molly smiled, “Every day since you’ve married me. All part of your marriage plan,”

 

“And today?”

 

“It might have been mentioned.”

 

“Good,” Sherlock smirked against her mouth, “Now let me show you my plans for tonight.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this author note after a good night's rest and seeing the hysteria that has come from The Wallpaper Conspiracy (the actual illuminati plot, not the fic). First things first, thank you all for the lovely feedback. I'm absolutely honoured that my writing will be part of a eulogy. Secondly, I've gotten a lot of questions about the conspiracy itself. What IS the wallpaper conspiracy? I'm awful at formatting AO3, so I don't know how to link posts, but long story short:
> 
> Mark Gatiss was asked a question about Molly and her relationship with Sherlock at a convention, and he said this. "He sort of doesn’t really think about her, she is just someone that hands him a cup of coffee. Obviously he doesn’t understand how she feels about him. [...] She is the wallpaper. But when it comes to the crunch, she is one of the few people he can actually rely on. And having really helped him out, he is never gonna forget that. But doesn’t mean that he suddenly gonna propose to her. He just gonna regard her as a piece of moving wallpaper."
> 
> Which bothered a lot of Sherlollians who read it. But, Sherlollians are a sturdy bunch. As opposed to taking frustration and spewing hatred, the combined efforts of this lil corner of fandom created a joke called The Wallpaper Conspiracy. This just so happened to be my little contribution, and I'm simultaneously flattered and shocked that you made it this far.


End file.
